


A Midnight Summer's Wretch

by NeuroWriter14



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A cat fight for the ages, Be Rita or Be Rita(TM), Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Boss Bitch vs Toad Bitch, Do not repost, Frenemies, Green vs Pink, M/M, Rita Skeeter's quill is important, Rita is faced with an existential crisis, Whose Quill is better?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:46:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27674894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeuroWriter14/pseuds/NeuroWriter14
Summary: Harry Potter is the Boy Who Lived. Tom Gaunt is the cousin of Lord Voldemort. Dolores Umbridge is the former Undersecretary turned Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Rita Skeeter is a journalist by day and beetle by other day. What happens when Rita is faced with a tough choice? Write a scandal or destroy Dolores Umbridge?
Relationships: Harry Potter & Rita Skeeter, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Rita Skeeter vs Dolores Umbridge
Comments: 28
Kudos: 141





	1. Prologue

Harry landed with a thud, the body of Cedric falling flat on the ground. His eyes, still open, stared above them though not seeing anything. Harry's body was still shaking, the aftereffects of the Cruciatus curse coursing through him still. He could still feel it, crawling over his skin and through his veins. The crowd around him was cheering, the band was playing, but Harry could only manage sob after sob. The cheers turned to screams as the crowd realized Harry was clinging to a lifeless body. He couldn't force himself to move though. He was certain that he'd have to be dragged away, but he didn't want to allow that. It was his fault, it was all his fault. 

Tears ran freely down his cheeks as he buried his face in Cedric's lifeless shoulder. 

"Harry," A voice said quietly as a hand braced his shoulder. "Harry, what happened?" 

"He's back," Harry managed between pained sobs. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to think. Everything hurt. "Voldemort's back. Cedric-" His voice broke. "Cedric told me to bring his body back. I couldn't leave him. Not there." 

"It's all right," Dumbledore tried to reassure, but his blue eyes weren't sparkling now. There was sadness behind those half-moon spectacles. "He's home. You both are." Harry nodded shakily, not really comprehending what Dumbledore said but he knew it was meant to be reassuring nonetheless. 

Bodies were starting to cram around them, people fighting their way through the crowd to see what was happening. Amos Diggory was the only other person Harry registered. He dropped to his knees next to his son's body. Guilt washed over Harry once again. The pain was all but forgotten as he watched Mr. Diggory's eyes fill with tears and pain. It was his fault. It was all his fault. If he hadn't convinced Cedric to take the cup with him-

"My son." Mr. Diggory whispered, agony evident in his voice. "My boy." Harry was certain the man would push him off the body of his son, but instead the older man's hand came to the back of his neck. He was shaking as tears flowed down his face. "You brought him home." Harry opened his mouth to answer, to apologize, but bodies began jostling again and Harry was dragged away. 

"No!" He tried to yell, but it came out as more of a cracked, low groan.

His body was pulled upright and that hurt worse than any of the other pain he was currently experiencing. He had forgotten about the open, bleeding wound on his arm. He had forgotten about the pain in his scar, though his head still throbbed. He had forgotten about the minor aches and pains from running the maze. He had forgotten about everything except the sparks of pain that stayed constant in his body. 

He was dragged away from the arena, still offering sobs and screams that meant nothing to anyone. 

What happened next was a blur to him. Though he lived it, he wasn't certain what all happened. He was vaguely aware that "Mad-Eye" Moody was not in fact "Mad-Eye" Moody, but rather Barty Crouch Jr. He was vaguely aware that a series of professors, Dumbledore included, burst into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, wands out and furious. He was vaguely aware that Sirius was first in Dumbledore's office and then the lot of them, Sirius included, in the hospital wing. 

He wasn't really aware of anything fully until the door to the hospital wing flew open and another rushed into the room. The professors around him, along with Madam Pomphrey, looked up to see the person who stormed into the room. 

Tom Gaunt was another student in Harry's year. He was an incredibly smart boy and often had an air of power around him. He walked as though he owned the school and was rarely ever accused of doing anything wrong. Draco had tried to befriend him in their first year, as he had tried with Harry, but the dark-haired boy had just looked down his nose at the Malfoy heir and smirked slightly. The only people who ever seemed slightly suspicious of Tom were Dumbledore and Harry. That was until Harry's second year when the basilisk had run, or rather slithered, amuck in the school. Most people believed Harry was the heir of Slytherin and had set some terror on the school. Most people except Tom. Even when Ron and Hermione were skeptical, though they didn't think Harry had set a monster on the Muggleborns within Hogwarts, they still weren't certain that he wasn't the heir. It wasn't until Tom pulled him aside and told him he heard the voice too that he ever began to think Tom wasn't the terrible person he was made out to be. Harry certain was on the wrong end of the deal in his second year, maybe Tom had been the whole time. 

Tom was tall with chestnut-colored hair and deep blue eyes. He had high cheekbones and a lone curl always artfully placed on his forehead. After Harry met the diary in his second year, he was all but convinced that Tom Gaunt and Tom Riddle were the same person. 

But even that idea had faded away when Tom didn't sneer at him the same way the diary had. 

Tom pushed forward and between the professors, coming to a stop at the end of Harry's bed. His night blue eyes fell on the wound on his arm that was slowly healing into a long, thin, white line. 

"It's him isn't it?" Tom's eyes flicked up to Harry's. "It's my cousin."

* * *

Harry hadn't heard much from people over the summer, except for Tom. He and Tom rarely talked before, but now it seemed they had a mutual problem. While Harry heard very little news from his friends and Sirius, Tom told him everything that he knew. In exchange, Harry told Tom random things here and there. It was a comfort to have someone who didn't treat him any differently. His professors had handled him delicately after the TriWizard Tournament. Some people looked at him skeptically, and some looked at him as they always had, with stars in their eyes. 

Tom treated him like a normal person. 

Among the letters that Tom sent him were often clippings from the _Daily Prophet._ Harry read, with disgust and some tinge of amusement, the various accusations, and comments flung at him and Dumbledore. But having some news, any news, was better than what his friends had offered. It was enough to calm his anxious mind just slightly, even if he was angry at the false accusations flung his way. 

_What person in their right mind would think I was making up a story about Voldemort's return?_ Harry wrote to Tom during one of their many exchanges.

The answer came back quickly with Tom's and Harry's owls likely either annoyed at their constant contact or grateful for the stretch. 

_Fudge isn't in his right mind. He's afraid. And fear makes people do stupid things._ There was a splotch of ink on the paper next to the sentence, as though Tom had debated about what he would write next with the quill hovering over the page. _This is because of Rita Skeeter's articles during the Tournament. She laid the groundwork for things such as this._

 _Hermione took care of Rita._ Harry wrote back. _I doubt we'll see anything from her._

 _Don't underestimate Rita Skeeter._ Tom wrote back. _She has a knack for revenge._

He probably should have listened to Tom more. It was Rita Skeeter who reported on his trial. 

Harry didn't notice Rita at first as he walked into the rather dark room, facing witches and wizards looming high above him in plum robes with a W emblazoned on the front. He immediately felt out of his element as he looked up into the dozens of faces all watching him intently. There were a few he knew, and a few who he was later introduced to as he sat the chair adorned with chains in the center of the room. The chains didn't rise to bind him as they did Karkaroff in Dumbledore's memory, but they still swayed ominously. Harry didn't even notice Rita as the charges were laid before him or as he stammered to come up with a defense with Dumbledore at his side in an armchair. He didn't notice her until he managed to yell his defense, enraged at the constant interruptions. 

"I did it because of the Dementors!" He yelled. 

"Dementors? In Little Whinging?" Rita's voice echoed from his left. 

He turned, seeing her sitting with her legs crossed and her Quick Quotes Quill in hand. The emerald quill flicked, shimmering in the low light of the massive room. She wore a tight, emerald dress which made her bright blonde hair seem even blonder as it sat in ringlets, framing her face. Her blue eyes were focused on Harry over the edge of her glasses. She was watching him intently, though she lacked her normal cunning sneer. They both knew he could easily out her as an unregistered Animagus in front of the whole Wizengamont. It was likely that, and that reason alone, that she appeared willing to give him the benefit of the doubt as her quill continued to move in her unmoving hand. 

Someone else, the woman with her face hidden in the shadows, cleared her throat lightly. She leaned into the light just so that Harry could see her toad-like features as she smiled, a smile as sweet as it was venomous, at Rita. 

"We invited you here out of courtesy. Please refrain from interacting with the accused." Her voice matched her smile, sweet but promising venom. 

Rita bowed her head as if to apologize and the trail continued. 

Try as he might to ignore her, Harry was all too aware of Rita to his left. Even when the toad-like woman, Dolores Umbridge, questioned him, he was aware of the scratching of the quill next to him. The more Fudge and Dumbledore debated, the redder Fudge's face became, the faster the quill to his left scratched. And when Harry's sentencing was about to be handed down from those looming above him, the quill scratched faster. He was ultimately cleared of all charges by a rather reluctant Fudge. Dumbledore left as quickly as he arrived, leaving Harry with questions that never fell from his lips. 

Harry sat in the chair, chains dangling at his side, for a long moment as he was largely ignored by the witches and wizards above him. The only one who seemed willing to pay him any attention was the toad-like witch next to Fudge and Rita to his left. Neither said anything to him, though and eventually, Harry slipped from the room with no protests echoing behind him. He met Mr. Weasley outside and told him he was cleared. Mr. Weasley burst into a wide grin, grasping Harry's shoulder happily and saying he was certain he would be cleared. Before much else could be said, Rita slipped from the room, sashaying past Harry and letting the quill run along his jaw as she went. She was quickly followed by the Wizengamont, a couple of whom greeted Mr. Weasley lowly, but the rest largely ignored the two outside the room. Fudge and the toad-like woman were among the last to leave, ignoring Harry and Mr. Weasley as they went. Percy was the last to leave, ignoring both Harry and his father. 

While Mr. Weasley was surely hurt by the cold demeanor of his son, he tried his best not to show it but instead congratulated Harry and reassured him that he would take him back to see the others immediately who would want to hear about his victory. Idly, Harry thought about sending an owl to Tom to let him know while Mr. Weasley talked next to him until he stopped abruptly mid-sentence. 

They were met by two sets of people. One was Fudge and Lucius Malfoy, who sneered at Harry as he always did.

"The Minister was just telling me about your lucky escape, Potter," The man drawled. "Quite astonishing, the way you continue to wriggle out of tight holes. _Snakelike,_ in fact." 

"Yeah," Harry seethed. "I'm good at escaping." 

Lucius turned his attention to Arthur, likely not wanting to enter into a debate about the things they both knew were true. Harry could still see Lucius's face as the mask came off in the graveyard, revealing the snake underneath that Harry was more than well aware existed the whole time. 

It was only because Lucius's attention turned that he heard the hushed conversation from the other pair. The toad-like woman, Umbridge, stood only a hair away from Rita, her eyes narrowed and glaring at the other witch. 

"You will not publish one word of this. It was a failure all around. I expect loyalty from you. I know that's quite difficult for you half-bloods." 

As Lucius and Fudge adjourned themselves, dragging the toad-like woman away with them, Harry caught another glimpse of Rita's face. 

Rita Skeeter looked as though she might kill someone. 


	2. Chapter 2

Harry was a rather simple person at heart. And that was certainly a credit to him. Rita, on the other hand, was quite complex down to her core. She prized her complexity and the fact that she was never as predictable as poor Harry Potter. Truly, Rita did not hate Harry, nor feel any ill will against him. But he was quite an easy target. How could he not be? The Boy Who Lived. What a moniker. She certainly never thought she would be so forcefully thrown back into the boy's orbit, especially after that wretched friend of his discovered her secret. Hermione Granger had been an easy target mostly because Rita despised her. 

There was a short list of people that Rita despised more than Hermione Granger, the little Gryffindor know-it-all, and on that list was none other than Dolores Umbridge. 

Before this trial, which Rita could not resist the urge to attend once invited, she had never crossed paths with the witch. And Rita would certainly remember crossing paths with her. The witch wore so much pink, she was probably visible from the stars when she walked outside during the day. She also had a sense that the woman associated herself with cats, just given the near predatory energies the woman emitted. After discovering her animagus, she began to notice things like that. She would notice things that preyed on beetles and gave her a keen sense of people who enjoyed swatting others out of the way. Umbridge was one of those people. It was Umbridge who recruited her to come report on the trial, and Rita was walking a fine line, to begin with. 

Harry Potter still knew of her animagus form, her _unregistered_ animagus form. One slip of the tongue and Rita would suffer consequences. She would be bound to report somewhat accurately on the trial. However, Umbridge clearly wanted to destroy the boy and by proxy Albus Dumbledore. Reporting on the trial would have been a fine line to walk. It was worse now that Umbridge had decided to attempt to embargo her from writing on the trial altogether. 

And certainly, Rita had things to say about the trial of Harry Potter. 

Most of them didn't put the Ministry in the best of light. 

So, she was faced with a choice. She could defy the Ministry of Magic and its Undersecretary who hid venom behind a high, sweet voice, or she could say nothing and continue watching the dominos fall from where she lined them up the year before. 

Poor Harry Potter was such an easy target after all and he lacked the knowledge that others did, those who actually grew up around purebloods. He didn't know how to be careful with his words. But Harry wasn't a pureblood, and neither was she. 

And she was most certain that neither was Dolores Umbridge. 

Umbridge certainly hated Muggleborns, much like several pureblood lines. But in Rita's experience, the people who hated Muggleborns and half-bloods the most were actually half-bloods. 

Rita, among her many gifts, could glean much about a person. And often she would use that to her advantage. Rita was a sensationalist when it came to her writing, and she would admit it freely. The story was key above all, more than anything. And sometimes a good story needed a little twist, a push and a pull, to draw people in. She could see things others couldn't about people, and she freely used that to her advantage. Rita prized knowledge above all things. It was what ultimately put her in Ravenclaw in her own time in Hogwarts. The hat had debated for a moment, between Slytherin and Ravenclaw, but Rita craved knowledge, even though she knew how to use it to her advantage. Ultimately it was her lust for knowledge, no matter what she planned to do with it, that stuck her in Ravenclaw. 

That and the fact that she was intelligent enough to pull off even some of the more difficult feats. She could do some things with wandless magic, a feat in and of itself, but even beyond that was the animagus transformation. The whole process from start to finish was taxing magically, but she did it, even if only a few people in the world knew about it. 

It only irked her that the majority of those who knew were children. 

Then again, Harry Potter was never quite a child, was he?

Rita looked back down at her notes from the trial.

In truth, she didn't have to write most of her notes. Among her many possessions was the Quick-Quotes Quill. However, her quill was modified beyond that of the normal Quick-Quotes Quill. It took a great deal of mind magic, something not all others were adept at, to fully link the quill to her. Similar to a wand, it might work for others but worked best for her. Unlike a wand, its loyalty could not be won. It was loyal to her, and only her. She could have sat at the trial with her quill miles away and it still would have recorded everything. 

But this was special. This wasn't like the second trial of Igor Karkaroff. She had been there for that too when he named Barty Crouch Jr. as one of the people responsible for the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom. She had hand-written that day too, but her real quill was elsewhere, taking notes that were far more in-depth than what she could manage with her hand. 

For this, though, Rita had her quill in hand. And she was ready and waiting. 

Though she knew that at one point, her quill had run away from her, writing when she was frozen by such a strange accusation. 

She had hoped for something juicy. Oh to report on the ultimate expulsion of Harry Potter. His wand broken and he cast out of wizarding society. What a story that would be. And Rita, the one to report on it. Oh, it would certainly loose her from Hermione Granger's grip. It would be the truth after all. And what a truth that would be. 

That wasn't what she witnessed. 

In fact, what she witnessed was ultimately in the opposite direction. 

It was very clear to her that the Ministry was hounding Harry for a purpose. Fudge was slipping further and further into delusion and Umbridge was more than willing to follow him, her wicked agenda propelling her. Rita certainly hadn't helped matters with her article previously, but she wasn't out to help people. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that there was darkness in Albus Dumbledore. He certainly wasn't the kind person he tried to portray to the world. 

No, there was wickedness there and Rita could sense it. Some hidden past that she was longing to dig up. 

But clearly, Fudge — and especially Umbridge — weren't kind people either. 

Truly the only kind person among them seemed to be Harry Potter himself. 

Rita had done some careful finagling to wheedle the story out of some of the other members of the Wizengamont. And what a truly heroic story it ultimately led to be. Harry Potter, attacked by dementors in Little Whinging, defended himself and his poor Muggle cousin against them, ultimately driving them away and saving himself and his cousin. 

His cousin, Rita learned, was a great brute of a boy. She doubted there was a feeling of fraternity between the cousins. 

Of course, Harry was the hero of that story. 

But that wasn't the story that interested Rita. 

Dementors in Little Whinging. 

The dementors were under the control of the Ministry, Fudge had made that abundantly clear during Harry's trial. So, if they were under the control of the Ministry, why were they in Little Whinging attacking Harry Potter? It would be so easy to believe the story the Ministry tried to pander. That Harry was merely showing off in front of his cousin and risked exposing the wizarding world. Rita knew her own articles would be cited for that story. Chronic liar, cheater, publicity hound Harry Potter. 

But it truly didn't seem right. 

So, why were they there?

_You will not publish one word of this. It was a failure all around. I expect loyalty from you. I know that's quite difficult for you half-bloods._

A failure all around. 

The only conclusion Rita could truly make was that the Ministry had indeed sent dementors after Harry Potter. Or rather, not the Ministry, but the Minister of Magic's Undersecretary, Dolores Umbridge, had sent them after Harry. 

Rita could truly not care any less about this story. It wasn't as though she could publish it. The Ministry, she knew, was in complete control of the _Daily Prophet_ which was Rita's normal choice for publication. They would not take this story. 

No, that would undermine her previous stories too. 

Proving Harry Potter was right! The scandal that would fall on her!

But-

Rita's quill was scratching rapidly at a piece of paper, laying on her thoughts out for her to read later. She hummed happily at the frantic scratching and the quill popped off the page for a second, the feathered end of it brushing over her cheek before returning to finish writing the rest of her thoughts. 

"I should see a boy about a wizard." She hummed to herself, her quill flicking lightly. "Dear thing," She said to the quill. "I doubt these Muggles will take kindly to you. You will stay, and write everything. And I shall visit Harry Potter's relatives. Perhaps they can shed more light on this story. Hmm?" 

She doubted she would encounter Harry himself. He had arrived at the Ministry earlier in the day alongside Arthur Weasley. He was not likely at home afterward. This would require secrecy from Harry for the moment. Not that it mattered. What could the boy do? He was already teetering on the knife's edge, one wrong move and he would impale himself. 

Rita turned to her mirror, checking to make sure not one of her tight, blonde curls had fallen out of place after she left the Ministry. She was quite frustrated upon leaving, but not a single curl was out of place. Her make-up was immaculate and her dress was as flattering as always. She twirled in the mirror, making certain there was not a single spot on her blue dress. She had chosen blue today to match her eyes. She settled her glasses just above her nose before grabbing a notepad. It was unusual for a witch or wizard to write with something other than parchment, but she had grown up as something other than a wizard. She still sometimes resorted to a pen and paper, which could be so much faster than the normal wizarding writing devices. And certainly much more accessible. 

She knew, though, that her loyal quill would continue to write even after she had gone. 

Harry Potter's relatives lived at Number Four Privet Drive in Little Whinging. 

Rita was there in seconds. She was careful to apparate where she could not be seen, but she certainly didn't bother to hide as she strutted toward the door of the house. It was a modest house, she had seen far greater in her time in the wizarding world. It likely had more than enough room to accommodate two growing boys, even though one was only there for part of the year. She had seen the previous year that Harry stayed at Hogwarts during the winter break. 

The garden was neat, though some bushes by the window appeared to be hollowed out slightly, perhaps large enough for a person to lie in.

She saw a woman in the front window for a moment, before she vanished, the curtains swaying in her wake. Nosy then. 

She barely knocked on the door when a large man answered, staring up at her with beady eyes and a red-puffy face. 

"Hello," She greeted. "You must be Mr. Dursley. Harry Potter's uncle." 

The door slammed in her face. 

"Oh dear me," She muttered to the door, adjusting the ringlets around her face that were left askew by the wind from the force of the door shutting. "Not the nicest Muggles are they." 

She moved back down the street to where she had arrived, hidden from view. Except she wasn't leaving. Instead, she began to feel her body shift and twitch. At first, the transformation hurt, but after a while, she grew more used to it. Now, she barely noticed the pain. Where there was once a human now stood a beetle, its shell shimmering with a slight blue tinge.

Flying as a beetle was strange no matter how often she did it. However, it put her right through the open window of the Dursley house and directly within earshot of the Muggles. 

"-freaks." She heard the woman, Mrs. Dursley, mutter. "Who does she think she is? Coming here and asking about Potter? What will the neighbors think if they saw her in that outfit? Wizard clothes, how disgusting." 

"Well the boy hasn't returned," The man grunted. "Must not have been punished too severely. A shame I say. If nothing else, he certainly deserves a good beating. Certainly didn't do much when he was a child but maybe he will learn." 

"We mustn't talk about _him_ anymore," Mrs. Dursley spat. "At least he will be away at _that school_ for most of the year. And we will never need to speak of that shame anymore." 

"Do you suppose Dudley will be all right, my dear? He was quite loopy after the demon attack."

"Dementor," Mrs. Dursley corrected immediately and then looked horrified upon having done so. "I told you, they guard their prison." 

"I still say that is why they came! A criminal! That's what the boy is!" Mr. Dursley practically roared. 

"Hush now," Mrs. Dursley said, moving swiftly toward the window, her thin form casting a long shadow across the room as she peered outside. "The neighbors might hear." 

But the neighbors weren't the worst of the Dursleys' problems. Rita had heard it all. 

"I still say we should have chained him to that cupboard. The space under the stairs was too good for that little-"

She was already leaving when she heard the last sentence muttered by Mr. Dursley, though she didn't stick around long enough to hear the end of it. 


	3. Chapter 3

Harry was already preparing for a terrible year. The ride to Hogwarts had been characterized by one terrible thing after another. Sirius walking him to the station was certainly a highlight, but it was quickly dashed by Malfoy and the use of the word _dogging._ With Luna and Neville in the compartment with them, it was difficult to talk freely. But Harry knew Hermione was thinking the same thing he was. Somehow, Malfoy might have known that the shagging, black dog walking with Harry was Sirius Black. That incident was preceded by Neville's new plant, one he was quite excited about, bursting all over the compartment, Harry, Neville, Ginny, and Luna only for Cho Chang to appear immediately after that. And also, due to Ron and Hermione being prefects, Harry spent a majority of the ride to Hogwarts without Ron, which had never happened before. 

All that compounded and eventually assured Harry that the year ahead would be terrible when he _saw_ the horse-like creatures pulling the carriages. They looked mostly like bone, all sharp edges and thin bodies with skin as dark as the darkest parts of the Forbidden Forest. Their eyes were bone-white and Harry couldn't help but feel daunted under their stares. They had massive, leathery wings and were harnessed to the carriages, pulling them. 

"It's all right," Luna said beside him, her voice dreamy. "I see them too. You're just as sane as I am." 

Harry stepped up into the carriage, not at all reassured. He barely knew Luna Lovegood, but already, she didn't seem that sane. What did it say about him, then, that he and Luna were sharing a hallucination? 

The carriage was just about to leave, with one seat open on Harry's right, when another stepped into the carriage, settling into the open seat. His chestnut hair and his deep blue eyes looked nearly black in the darkness but his Slytherin robes still gleamed, emerald and silver out of place amongst yellows, reds, and blues. 

"She's right you know." Tom settled next to him, either unaware or purposefully ignoring the fact that the conversation with Luna outside the carriage wasn't heard by anyone within. His dark eyes looked around the carriage, seeing the general discomfort and unease at his presence while Harry found himself struck silent. "Ah, yes." Tom practically purred. "A snake amongst lions and ravens. How terrible."

He leaned back against the carriage bench, throwing his arm behind Harry and crossing one leg over another, swaying slightly as the carriage began to move. Harry could feel the general unease around him, waiting for Tom to snap and curse them, but he didn't. Instead, he looked from person to person, with amusement before his dark eyes landed on Harry. 

"I see you weren't expelled." 

"No," Harry answered, finding his voice again. Harry hadn't told Ron or Hermione about his burgeoning friendship, if it could be called that, with Tom Gaunt, mostly because he knew at the time that there were things they weren't telling him. And then his trial had come and Harry had other things on his mind and hadn't sent Tom a letter since before he left Privet Drive. 

The silence that fell was awkward, mostly for Harry, who was stuck between his own stubbornness and his guilt at not having told Tom what happened. 

"What did you mean?" Hermione asked, breaking the silence and Tom's intense stare at Harry. "Who's right?" 

Of all the Slytherins, Tom was the least terrible. He certainly had his moments, smug and intelligent, and worse, he knew he was intelligent. He was never cruel though, unlike other Slytherins. He was clever and managed to work his way up the chain of his own wits. Other Slytherins respected him, the professors adored him, and those in other houses didn't hate him, which was unusual for Slytherins. He was obviously ambitious, a fact that had been relayed to Harry over the summer, and had a network of information available to him which he would use to his own advantage. He didn't covet knowledge for the sake of knowledge, but instead for his own use. He would probably find his way into the Ministry of Magic later in life, taking an alternate route to power than his cousin did. In all reality, there were many similarities between Voldemort and Tom Gaunt, except for one thing. 

Tom had never once tried to kill Harry. 

They had all had their fair share of run-ins with troublesome Slytherins. But never once had that Slytherin been Tom, which was why, Harry supposed, Hermione had bothered to ask at all. 

"Ms. Lovegood." Tom settled more comfortably into his seat. "In regards to what's pulling the carriages." 

"Nothing is pulling the carriages, they pull themselves," Hermione argued. 

"Harry did say he saw something," Ron chimed in. 

"Yes," Tom affirmed, though Harry doubted that Tom had heard that part of the conversation. "Harry can see them, Ms. Lovegood can see them, and I can see them." He cocked his head. "Come now, Ms. Granger. With how much you've seen, do you really think everything is what it seems?" 

The rest of the carriage ride was spent in silence, with Harry only really paying attention to the lack of light coming from the grounds where Hagrid's hut sat. As they arrived at Hogwarts, Tom was the first one down, swinging out of the carriage with ease and then waiting patiently for Harry to descend behind him. 

"We will talk about what happened later, no?" 

Harry nodded and Tom seemed appeased. The other was gone by the time everyone else began to climb down from the carriage. 

"Since when are you and Gaunt friendly?" Ron asked, glaring at the back of the Slytherin's chestnut-colored head. 

"Since you and Hermione stopped telling me things." 

Harry didn't feel bad about the guilt that flashed across Ron and Hermione's faces. It wasn't the first time he had brought this up, though his anger over it had been quelled over the summer by Tom and his carefully chosen words. But it was only his anger at their lack of communication that had been quelled. The rest of it, the anger that had been burning inside him all summer without any real reason, wasn't. 

They made their way to the Great Hall with Harry mulling over what he had learned at the end of the previous year. What had set him and Tom down a familiar path. Tom was related to Voldemort and in all coincidence, looked just like him in his younger years. Tom had relayed bits and pieces of his history over the summer, though he never gave away too much. Harry supposed it was due to a lack of trust, but not just with Harry. Tom never seemed to trust anyone. He kept his distance from most of the school, enough that even Draco had fallen prey to his mysterious side and attempted to cozy up to him. It failed miserably as Tom never once fell into Draco's inner circle. 

It wasn't until Harry saw a familiar yet daunting bright pink at the professor's table that he was pulled from his thoughts. 

"She was at my hearing!" Harry said to Ron and Hermione. 

"Who?" Hermione asked, following Harry's gaze. 

"That Umbridge woman. She works for Fudge." 

"She works for Fudge?" Hermione continued, but Harry's mind was elsewhere and who else was at his hearing. 

Rita Skeeter. 

Subconsciously, his eyes found Tom's across the hall. Tom, who had been very clearly staring at Harry until Harry looked at him, followed Harry's gaze as he turned his head, focusing again on Umbridge. The other looked away then, but Harry knew he had understood what little Harry could communicate via glance. The other nodded slightly, almost imperceptibly, and then focused on the conversation next to him where Malfoy was holding court. 

The rest of the evening was considerably tedious, first given the Sorting Hat's song, then Dumbledore's speech which was quickly interrupted by Umbridge's speech, and then his arrival to the Gryffindor common room which was punctuated by an argument with Seamus Finnigan who — along with his mother — thought Harry was lying. 

It wasn't until much later, with Harry's heart pounding in his head and anger roaring through his veins that he finally opened the note Tom had slipped him as they left the Great Hall. The other's had fallen asleep around him, even Ron who had tried to stay awake until Harry calmed down, but ultimately couldn't last. Harry unfolded the note carefully, looking at it in the dim moonlight. 

_Meet me at midnight. 7th floor. Left corridor._

It was still before midnight when Harry finally read the letter and he very carefully crept out of bed. He grabbed for his cloak and the Marauder's map and quietly crept out of the dorm. He didn't run into anyone on his way down and eventually slipped from the common room unnoticed. Due to the map, the trip through the castle was professor free and Harry crept down the corridor, finding a door open near a rather unsightly portrait. The door was barely open with a light shining a thin line down the hall. Harry stopped for a moment, wondering if he should go inside when he saw someone coming up on the map. He took a breath and dove through the door which shut behind him with a soft click. 

He leaned against the wall just inside the door, watching as the professor, McGonagall, walked past the door on the map without stopping. 

Once McGonagall was gone, Harry took a chance to look around the room. It was small, no larger than a classroom with a table in the center with a lamp on it and two chairs on either side. One chair was currently occupied by Tom who looked half asleep. 

"Are you going to come out now?" Tom's head lolled toward Harry who pulled off the cloak. 

"How did you know I was here?" 

"The door was only open for you and would only close once you walked through it." 

Harry nodded, walking forward to the other chair in the room. "You asked me to come. Here I am." 

"Yes, you still owe me an explanation. What happened at your trial and what does the appearance of Dolores Umbridge mean at Hogwarts?" 

Harry sighed and nodded. He recounted the trial to Tom, in more detail than he ever did to Ron and Hermione. He had no idea why he trusted Tom so much, or maybe it was that he needed someone to unload on and Tom was quietly listening to every word. By the time he finished, Tom's dark eyes had sharpened. 

"So, the Ministry is interfering at Hogwarts." 

"That's what Hermione said." 

"Well, she was quite right. You will need to be careful with everything you say around her." 

"Why?" Harry asked, his mind first thinking that Tom meant Hermione. 

"Who do you think Umbridge reports to? Who do you think every word is ultimately being said by?"

"Fudge," Harry huffed. 

"Exactly. Things could be terrible. Beyond house points and detention, neither of which I know bother you." Harry rolled his eyes but Tom continued. "For now you will have to lay low. No looking for trouble." 

"I don't go looking," Harry grumbled. "It just seems to find me." 

"With an alarmingly high frequency." Tom raised an eyebrow then leaned forward to rest his forearms on the table between them. "There's something else you're not telling me." 

Harry sighed and rubbed his face with the heels of his hands. "Rita Skeeter was there." Tom's eyes narrowed. "She was reporting on the trial." 

"Nothing was ever published." 

"Umbridge told her not to. She said, 'it was a total failure all around.'" 

"Then it was Umbridge who sent the dementors." Tom's voice was firm, as though he was absolutely certain. 

"You can't think-"

"I do think. Dementors are under the control of the Ministry of Magic. Only someone within the Ministry has the ability to send them from place to place. If it wasn't the Minister who, as you said made it abundantly clear that dementors are under Ministry control, then it was his Undersecretary." Tom's fingers tapped on the table and Harry could practically see the strings connecting the dots in Tom's mind. "She invited Rita to report on the trial and Rita agreed. For Rita, she was walking a fine line. You could have easily have told them right there that she was an unregistered animagus so she had to be sure that whatever she printed would utterly destroy your credibility and that of your friends by association. So even if her status came out, no one would believe it. And it was Umbridge who brought her there to do so since Rita was the one who planted the seeds of your insanity in the first place." 

Tom stood and began pacing the room. 

"But when you were cleared of the charges, Umbridge couldn't allow Rita to say anything that would shed any positive light on you." 

"She didn't take too kindly it seemed to being told what and what not to print. She barely tolerated it when Hermione did it." 

"I doubt we've seen the last of Rita Skeeter." Tom likely caught the question on Harry's face and continued. "She won't take this lightly. She'll come for you again. Or maybe even Umbridge." 

"I doubt it." Harry huffed. "The Umbridge part." 

"Don't," Tom said, moving back toward Harry. "I told you, Rita has a knack for revenge. She won't like Umbridge silencing her." 

"She won't like Hermione silencing her either then," Harry huffed. This could be very bad.

"Then I suppose we'll have to dangle something in front of Rita that she wants more than you. Or Hermione." 

"We?" Harry asked. 

"Yes," Tom answered. "Or do you not want my help?" 

"I just didn't know you wanted to help." 

"Harry," Tom's voice dropped and his eyes took on a mischievous sparkle. "I don't take the time to meet people in the middle of the night that I don't like." 


	4. Chapter 4

Tom didn't bother starting to write during their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class. He, along with Hermione Granger, had similar ideas, he suspected, but instead of raising his own hand, he let Ms. Granger raise hers. He always sat in the back of the class, despite his high grades and how often he was willing to answer questions. There was more to see when no one was looking at him. In this case, he and a very distracted Harry were focused on Ms. Granger, her hand held in the air stiffly in the silence of the room. It started with only Tom and Harry watching, and then a few more joined. And then more until half the class was watching her. Tom knew that if he raised his own hand, his question would be answered almost instantly. He was a Slytherin after all, and from what little he could find on Umbridge so far, he knew she had also been in Slytherin. 

But this wasn't about answering a question. Tom had things to learn, things that would hopefully be useful later. So he waited and watched while Hermione Granger, a Gryffindor and a Muggleborn, waited with her hand in the air. For Tom, he couldn't help but wonder which of her attributes led Umbridge to ignore her, the Gryffindor or Muggleborn, but Umbridge was ignoring her all the same.

Until half the class was focused on the form of Hermione Granger. It appeared the Gryffindor's stubbornness won out over Umbridge's because eventually, she turned her cunning eyes to her student. 

"Yes, Miss-"

"Granger. Hermione Granger." She straightened herself in her seat in an attempt, Tom thought, to be more professional. "I was wondering, there's nothing in here about using defensive spells?" 

"Using defensive spells?" Umbridge parroted, her sweet voice laced with underlying venom. Tom could hear it distinctly, he had employed the same tactic himself. It was a warning, but he knew Ms. Granger wouldn't be deterred. "I can't imagine why you would need to use defensive spells in my classroom." 

_Oh no._

Tom watched, none too surprised, as Harry reacted immediately. The resulting verbal battle was almost amusing, as Harry rightfully fought for the usage of defensive spells. But Tom couldn't help but shake his head. They had talked what was only a few hours before in the Room of Requirement, and still, Harry threw all warnings out the window to immediately argue. Not that Tom could fault him. He would argue the same thing. But he had enough restraint to not enter into a full-blown argument with a professor. Harry, on the other hand, had no such qualms. So, Tom watched Harry bicker and Umbridge begin to tense more and more. 

"Who is out there that would want to harm children, such as yourself?" Umbridge practically cooed in an attempt to placate Harry. But it didn't work. 

Tom could see the words before they ever left Harry's mouth, mostly because he was thinking them himself. 

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe Lord Voldemort." 

Some people yelped, one fell from his chair, and others grew incredibly pale. But Tom was watching Umbridge, whose face turned ashen for just a moment before her eyes narrowed. 

"Over the last several months, you were told that a certain Dark Wizard had come back to life," She began and Harry opened his mouth to correct her. "This is a lie." She emphasized every word and Harry almost flew out of his chair. 

"It's not a lie! I saw him! I fought him!" 

"Detention, Mr. Potter!" She trilled, but Harry wasn't subdued by the threat of detention. 

"So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord." 

"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident." Umbridge was reaching the edge of what little patience she had. But Tom saw something else. 

He cut off Harry before the hotheaded Gryffindor could continue to speak, likely about to argue that Diggory's death was murder. "You're afraid." 

Harry's tirade cut off immediately, and the whole class whipped back to see Tom, leaning on the edge of his desk. He didn't bother looking at the rest of the class, even Harry who was breathing heavily but shooting him a surprisingly grateful look. Instead, he was focused completely on Umbridge. 

She adjusted herself, under Tom's scrutiny, and raised her chin almost definitely. Except Tom could see through it. He saw her fear, hidden under her sweetness and defiance. She was afraid. And Tom knew it. 

"There is nothing to fear." 

Tom pursed his lips, unwilling to say any more. He wasn't Harry after all. Harry, who could be counted on to continue arguing that point. 

"Yes, there is!" Harry had whipped back around so fast, Tom wondered if his head spun. "He's a murderer! You must know this!" 

"ENOUGH!" Umbridge screeched, loud enough that even Tom winced. She moved to her desk and began writing before folding the note and offering it. "Take this to Professor McGonagall, Mr. Potter." 

Harry was fuming as he practically tore the note from her hand and stormed from the classroom. 

Tom shifted in his seat, leaning back slightly, and waved his hand over the piece of parchment laid out in front of him. He was grateful that he was normally alone at his desk at the back of the class. Most tended to sit in pairs. Harry was always with Mr. Weasley, Draco was always with Crabbe, Goyle, or Zabini. All of which were the only people who would ever consider sitting with him. And yet none did. It certainly made it easier to cheat. His notes were copied quickly and Umbridge raised her head, looking over the edge of thin frames that she had placed on the bridge of her nose. 

"When you have finished copying your notes, you may leave." 

That was all that was said for the rest of the class. Tom waited another few minutes to appear busy before he stood, deposited the notes on Umbridge's desk, and left. 

He didn't bother waiting for any of the other Slytherins, or even Harry's friends. Instead, he marched through the castle, following the same path Harry had. The other was just walking out of McGonagall's classroom when Tom grabbed him but the scruff of his neck and pulled him aside, away from the impending crowd once classes let out. 

"What were you thinking?" He hissed before Harry managed a word. 

"I wasn't," Harry huffed. 

"That was quite obvious," Tom muttered and Harry glared at him. Tom held his gaze, undeterred. The other sighed after a moment, breaking eye contact. 

"It's just-" Harry huffed and then shrugged. 

"I know," Tom said, softening his voice slightly. In truth, he did know. There was a bit that he told Harry, information that he had given him that he didn't willingly expose. But there was still more that he never told Harry or anyone for that matter. So, he truly did understand. 

Harry leaned back against the wall behind him looking incredibly exhausted. 

Tom sighed, resisting the urge to reach out and attempt to comfort the Gryffindor in some way. It wasn't often that he wanted to show physical affection, but he found it was something he was willing to offer Harry. Mostly because it seemed as though Harry didn't have much. 

"You should probably get some rest." 

"I can't," Harry muttered. "Assignments." The other pushed off the wall, adjusting his bag which he had haphazardly taken with him from the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. 

"Harry," Tom murmured, right as the other moved to pass him. "Be wary at dinner. News of your outburst at Umbridge will spread like wildfire. Just keep your head down." 

Harry chuckled mirthlessly. "It's a hard head to keep down." 

Tom's lips twitched but he didn't say anything, watching the Gryffindor move toward the stares. 

He didn't talk to Harry again for two days. That night he was far too busy with homework and spending whatever free time between his assignments trying to find anything he could on Dolores Umbridge. He had been right, of course, when it came to the news of Harry's screaming match with Umbridge. The whispers, or rather pathetic attempts at whispers, had echoed from every table during dinner. The next day was spent with even more assignments, not that Tom couldn't handle it. In fact, he finished with his assignments before most of his peers did. Again, he set to work trying to find information on Umbridge but ultimately failed once more. It wasn't until he was leaving the library on his third of researching, two days after he last spoke to Harry, that he ran into Harry once more. 

Almost literally. 

Harry was making a mad dash around the corner, his emerald eyes wide with an attempt to stay awake. He had dark circles under his eyes, his hair was more wild than normal, and Tom could tell instantly that he was favoring his right hand. 

He grasped the Gryffindor's shoulders, holding him upright where Harry nearly fell, and then dropped his grip just as quickly when Harry was steady. 

"Are you all right, Harry?" 

The other blinked at him, his emerald eyes clearing slightly. "Yes, I'm just-" He adjusted his bag and then sighed. "I'm not." Tom caught sight of a red mark on Harry's hand when the other adjusted his bag, and quickly stole the other's hand for his own examination. 

Truly, he had never felt such anger as what jolted through him at that moment. His vision turned red for the briefest of seconds before he took a calming breath, turning Harry's hand to see the wound more clearly. It looked as though Harry himself had carved the words into his own hand and Tom, again in a brief flash of emotion that he wasn't normally accustomed to, almost felt the need to press the wound to his lips. 

"It's nothing." Harry tried to tug his hand away but Tom held fast. 

"I can heal this for you." His voice sounded tight even to him. 

Harry looked at him for a moment, thoughts flashing behind his eyes before he nodded once. There wasn't much Tom could do, he wasn't all that well versed in medicinal magic. But he could do enough. He could take the pain away, and stop what bleeding there was. It would scar, but he doubted Harry would go to the hospital wing for this. He was far too stubborn and to him, it would feel like he was letting Umbridge win by acknowledging he felt any pain. 

Once he was satisfied with what he could do, he let the other's hand go. Harry returned his hand slowly to his side and offered a small, exhausted sounding 'thank you.' 

"How late has she been keeping you?" 

"Until after midnight most nights." Harry adjusted his bag once again. 

"I suppose you're not caught up on homework then?" Harry's headshake was mostly wild strands of hair flying in various directions. 

"I suspect that won't change tonight." Tom stepped out of Harry's way. "You should get some rest. You look as though you're about to drop." 

"Thanks," Harry muttered, passing him before stopping for a second and turning back around. "And thanks for-" He raised his hand. 

"You're welcome." Before Harry could continue, he added, "Don't worry. I won't tell anyone." 

"Thanks." Harry almost looked as red as his robes for a second before he began to turn away again. "Night, Tom."

"Goodnight, Harry." 

He watched for a moment as Harry continued toward the stairs before turning on his heel and making his way down to the Slytherin common room. He barked the password, not really caring much for politeness before he entered. The room was bathed in a soft green light from the Black Lake and the fire reflecting off the window. He weaved his way around emerald chairs, ignoring the corner of the common room where Malfoy was currently holding court amongst others who were children of Death Eaters. 

Oh, Tom knew all about them. Malfoy was one to brag, often and loudly, and Tom heard everything. It was how he knew where Hagrid was, on a mission to speak to giants. It's how he knew that the massive, shaggy dog that had accompanied Harry to the platform was in fact Sirius Black, Harry's godfather once accused of murder. It was also how he knew that his cousin, the loathsome creature he was, was sending people on mission after mission into the Ministry for something Malfoy didn't know. And how he also knew that Malfoy was expecting to see his aunt once more. It didn't take much to figure out who his aunt was and why the young Malfoy heir didn't see her much. 

But whatever interesting fact Malfoy's father had tonight was none of Tom's concern. 

He had a gambit to play. 

Quietly, he curled himself into a corner of the common room where no one else was. It wasn't hard to find these corners, as Malfoy and his hoard often occupied most of the room, scaring off the rest. But never Tom. Despite his name, Malfoy was never the fierce dragon he tried to make himself out to be. He had brought Malfoy to heel years ago and was more than happy to remind him once again. 

He pulled out a quill and a piece of parchment, dipping his quill into the ink well. 

_Dear Rita Skeeter..._

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://neurowriter14.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/NWriter14)


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